Every Color in the World
by Nuwanda
Summary: Dean Winchester wasn't a hipster. He just really really liked thrift shops. (Or) Once again the new kid in school, Dean is immediately noticed by the hipster crowd, who like his quirky clothes and bizarre personality. He's not interested...until he catches sight of the blue-eyed stranger he'd met at a tag sale the day before.
1. Chapter 1

It was a gorgeous autumn day. The sun was out but it wasn't overly bright, and the air was cool and crisp. There was a gentle breeze sending falling leaves dancing across the grass.

In other words, it was perfect weather for tag saling.

It was always difficult being the new kid in school, but being new in town? _That_ was always an adventure. If there was one thing Dean loved, it was anything vintage. Normally he got his fill by going from thrift shop to thrift shop, but when his family moved towns (which happened more often than he'd like)…..well then he got to explore the findings of a whole new town. Dean _lived_ for town-wide tag sales, those wonderful days when at least fifteen houses in the same town would participate in a tag sale. He couldn't say how many amazing things he'd gotten at those events. His dad was always pestering him to throw some of it out, saying he didn't need so much of it, but it was all too old, too fascinating, and he couldn't bear to part with it.

It really was gorgeous out. He had the sleeves rolled up on his plaid button down, wearing it open so the faded Metallica shirt was visible beneath. His form-fitting black jeans were tucked into dark black boots that he had found at Goodwill a couple years ago. Sammy had been thoroughly disgusted that he was buying used footwear. ("But Dean, someone else's feet have been in there!" "That's history, Sammy.") Dean smiled. Sam just didn't see vintage the same way as he did.

A breeze blew, sending a cold gust of air by, ruffling his hair and the scarf around his neck. It was a pattern of stripes in alternating shades of light and dark blue and completely clashed with everything else he was wearing. His father called it girly and said he had no business wearing it, but it had been his mother's and he'd be damned if anyone would stop him. His smile turned somewhat wistful. She had always appreciated a good tag sale….

Dean stopped dead. There, underneath the table, was a box of record albums. He made a beeline straight for it, as though drawn by magnet.

"Deeeaaaan!"

Dean was only vaguely aware of his name being called, the whine a dim noise in the background as he examined he examined his find.

"_Dean_!"

Sam's voice was painfully loud, practically yelled in his ear. "Ow!" He rubbed his ear, looking up from where he was crouched by the records. "What is it, Sam?"

The thirteen year old glared down at him. "We've been here for almost an hour! Just this one tag sale!"

Shit. Dean hadn't realized it had been that long. He smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Sammy. Just this one last thing, okay? Then we'll go."

Sam nodded, placated, and moved away to rifle through some books.

"Well, isn't that sweet."

The voice was laced with sarcasm. Dean looked up, finding himself face to face with a derisive smirk, but that wasn't what caught his attention. No, it was the eyes that went with that smile: two gorgeous orbs that might have been cut from sapphires for how deep a blue they were. The boy had a shock of messy brown hair that looked like it would feel amazing to touch. He was wearing an emerald sweater that was WAY too big on him, hanging off one bony shoulder, and a pair of black skinny jeans that were cuffed up. Cuffed up…..in _September_, for God's sake.

"See something you like?"

Dean realized he'd been staring. He flushed. "Not when what's inside the package is clearly so obnoxious."

The boy's brows shot up in surprise; a laugh burst forth. "Got a mouth on you, don't you."

Dean shrugged one shoulder, his attention back on the records, thumbing through them. "Look who's talking." He wasn't fazed by this boy or his attitude. In all honesty, Dean had had far worse many times before. Being the new kid so many times, he had quickly grown accustomed to what kind of assholes teenagers could be. This kid was nothing. He was probably just kidding around, though who knows? He could be a huge asshole. Dean didn't know and he shouldn't care. But there was something about him that made Dean curious, something tugging him to learn more. But Dean wasn't going to let any of that spoil his tag saling, his last day before school began and life started to suck again. No, he was going to finish here, buy Sammy the books he knew his brother was desperately eyeing (kid probably had thirty by now) and then leave, putting this kid out of mind.

"Do you mind letting me look at those, too?"

….apparently putting him out of mind was going to be harder than expected. Dean glanced up and saw the boy regarding him with a raised brow.

"The records. I'd like to look, too, if you don't mind." Dean shook his head, grabbing the box and hoisting it up, setting it on the table. He was rewarded with a smile for his efforts. "Thanks."

Dean nodded and moved to continue looking through the records, but the boy did at the same time, their hands brushing. His fingers were incredibly soft, and cold. "….I…" Dean wasn't quite sure what to say. "…..hope you don't mind starting in the middle," he finished, turning back to where the box of records was already half leafed through. "I already looked through a bunch of them."

He thought he could feel amusement radiating off of the other boy, but he ignored it. Could have been imagining it.

He wasn't entirely sure what this boy was looking for, cuz he sure wasn't picking anything out. Dean himself picked out a Queen album and an Erik Satie record, both eliciting noises from the boy beside him (the first a quiet chuckle, the second a pensive "hmm".) Suddenly, a title stuck out at him and he grabbed for the record so fast he himself almost didn't register it. Unfortunately, the other guy grabbed for it, too, and managed to catch the corner of it before Dean could completely pull it out of reach.

"No," Dean said, but his voice came out much more plaintive than firm. "This one's mine."

"You have two," the boy pointed out, grip not loosening in the slightest. "I don't have any."

"That's your own fault. This….I need this one."

The boy's blue eyes took on a look of extreme interest. "Why?"

Dean looked down at the record held in their hands, the Beatles 'Revolution', with _Hey Jude_ on the B side. "…I just do," he answered, his voice almost too soft to hear.

There was a moment where the world seemed almost silent, as if there was no one but the two of them as Dean waits and wants, and then, unbelievably, the boy didn't just release the record, he gently pressed it into Dean's hands. Dean looked up at him, green eyes filled with surprise, and those blue eyes looked back at him with a gentle understanding. Somehow, without knowing the situation, this boy still understood how important the record is to Dean. Dean felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

"Thank you," he whispered. The boy nodded at him, and suddenly Dean couldn't bear that softness anymore, that understanding. He turned and went to Sam, who had been watching the proceedings with curiosity.

"Dean, who was-"

"Grab your books, Sammy, we're done."

True to his guess, Sam had picked out more books than he could carry on his own. Thankfully, Dean had been so flustered at the end that he hadn't gone back for any of the other items he had admired; he had only left with the three records. When they got home, he helped Sammy get all his books into his new bedroom, where the little nerd promptly flopped on his bed and began reading happily.

Dean headed into his own room, tugging his turntable out from under his bed and carefully setting a record into place.

_"Hey, Jude…don't make it bad."_

Dean lay back on the floor, arms folded behind his head, eyes shut. The so-familiar song played on, and if for once he thought not only of his mother but of big blue eyes and a smirking mouth, no one had to know.

**~tbc~**


	2. Chapter 2

The first day at school is always hard. Making their way through the crowd of students milling around outside the building, Dean could feel the eyes following him and his brother. He itched to take Sammy's hand like he used to whenever they started a new school, but he knew that Sam was too big for that now and would absolutely HATE it. It was just his overprotective big brother urges kicking in, wanting to pull Sam close and shield him from all the crap Dean knew Sam was gonna be put through that day. He ached at the thought of it.

At the front door, Dean stopped, catching Sam's jacket. "Hey, c'mere a second." Sam stopped reluctantly, as if he knew what was coming next.

"Now, I'm not gonna tell you to come to me if anyone gives you a hard time, cuz I know you can take care of yourself," and Dean saw the hint of a smile on Sam's face at the words. "But I want you to know that you CAN come to me. It doesn't make you a wimp or a baby or anything. I'm your big brother. That's what I'm here for."

Sam was full on smiling now, and Dean was pretty sure that, were they not in the middle of a huge crowd, many of whom were still staring, Sam would give him a hug. "Thanks, Dean."

"No problem." He resisted the urge to ruffle Sam's hair. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean laughed at the punch that accompanied the familiar name-calling, and the two headed inside. They still had to find their lockers before class.

"Okay, Sammy, looks like this is where we go our separate ways."

Sam nodded. He was still smiling, but Dean could read him well enough to see the hint of nervousness in his eyes. He again had to restrain himself from messing with Sam's hair, this time to reassure him. "It'll be fine. I'll see you this afternoon, yea?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

Dean smiled. "Bye, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's SAM," he groused, and adjusted his backpack as he walked away. Dean stifled a laugh. Yeah, Sam would be fine. Now he just had to worry about himself.

"Class, this is Dean Winchester."

Of all the parts of transferring schools, this ranked high on the list of bits Dean hated most. Standing in front of a class of disinterested teens while the teacher tried to get them to like him? Didn't they realize that after elementary school, no one gave a shit about a new student? At least not in the ways the teachers wanted. Kids just wanted to gossip, to find out any dirty details they could.

Sure enough, the gazes greeting Dean were, for the most part, bored or full of that greedy sort of curiosity, the kind that had nothing to do with a genuine interest in someone as a _person_ and everything to do with interest in them as a _thing_.

He was, however, surprised to hear a chorus of "hi, Dean Winchester," coming from the corner of the room, by the windows. His gaze whipped around. There was a tiny group of students there, all grinning. He couldn't tell if it was meant to be mocking or not. It looked like it was, but not in a mean way. Like they were laughing _with_ him, like "don't you think this whole thing is stupid? We couldn't agree more. It is _so _stupid." He wasn't sure how he felt about it exactly, but it was rather nice to have someone seem….well…..not either bored by him or out to squeeze info from him. No, these kids didn't seem to want anything of him. It was refreshing. Still, he knew better than to let his guard down. Dean had learned long ago that rarely was anyone what they seemed.

The teacher's voice brought his mind back to the present. "Do you have anything you want to share with the class?" Mrs. Harrison asked.

He stared at her for a moment, looked around the room, looked back at her. "…I like pie?"

That got a burst of laughter from the group in the corner, and laughs from a few others as well. He smiled. There. Let THAT be the first bit of information to circulate about Dean Winchester. _Gossip about THAT, bitches._

Mrs. Harrison didn't look amused, but she didn't look upset, either. She just shook her head. "Sit down, Mr. Winchester."

He gratefully headed to the nearest empty desk and sat down. Mrs. Harrison returned to her own desk, pulling out her notes for class. It was then that she noticed that Dean had not pulled out any notebooks or books. "Dean, where are your books?"

…_crap._ He'd been hoping he wouldn't need them the first day. "I forgot them."

"Where?"

"…..in my locker."

More laughter. Mrs. Harrison was simply staring at him. "In your locker," she repeated the words as though to make sure she was hearing him correctly.

"…yea…." Well, that wasn't fully true. "Honestly, there was more of an accident….?"

"An accident? With your books?"

"….more with the locker…."

Mrs. Harrison seemed to be at a loss. "…..Mr. Winchester, are your books in one piece?" He nodded. "And your locker is intact and operable?"

"I think so."

She paused for a moment as the class tittered, seeming to silently debate whether or not his response required further questioning, but in the end deciding to press on. "Well, then I expect you to have them at our next class." With that, she turned to the blackboard and launched into the day's lesson.

Dean sank lower into his chair, arms folded across his chest. _So much for remaining low on the radar._

Dean headed straight to his locker after class. He didn't have _any _of his books, not just the ones for Mrs. Harrison's English class. Luckily, the door opened just fine. He pulled his books out, thanking God for small favors.

"Hey, Winchester!"

Dean shut his eyes, allowing himself a moment just to breathe. _Here it comes._ It was about to start for real: the pestering and the questions and all the other invasive annoyances. But when he opened his eyes and turned, the person, no, _people_, beside him were those strange kids from class. He was surprised. "Um, hi?"

"Hi." The boy speaking had dark brown hair and a friendly enough smile. "I'm Michael."

Dean shut his locker door, careful this time not to slam his scarf in it (you want to talk about reputations you don't want to spread around? Try being the kid to get stuck in his locker. Thank God the halls had been mostly empty that morning) and turned to Michael. "I'd introduce myself, but I think you were all present for that." He looked over Michael's shoulder at the crowd assembled. There was a girl with blonde hair cropped close to her head, another with long, wavy, chestnut brown locks, and a third with long, light brown hair; a boy with dirty blond hair and some scruff on his face, and one with chocolate brown skin and narrowed eyes. Michael was at the front, almost like a leader. None of them looked threatening enough, or even as if they had any bad intentions, but based on that formation alone, Dean wasn't sure he liked where this was going.

"So, what's up," he asked at last, leaning back against his locker. They didn't have long til next period, but he was going to hear them out. You never know…..if this went somewhere good, he could end up making a few friends.

"Well, we just saw you in class and thought….what with the way you talk…"

Dean's brow furrowed. "The way I talk?" he echoed.

"I love pie'…..remember?" It was the blonde who spoke. She had a nasty tone to her voice. It wasn't as if she was being mean….there was just something there, as if the personality that lay beneath that pretty exterior were not quite so sweet as the outside. Dean put another mark in the 'negative' column of….whatever this was.

"Yeah. The way you talk….the things you say. Your sort of…..quirkiness…"

Dean's brows shot up at that. He'd never heard it put quite like THAT before. "Quirkiness," he repeated.

"Yeah," Michael continued, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Dean was finding this all incredibly strange. "And your clothes."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What about my clothes." He put another negative mark down before he even heard the explanation. He didn't take any crap about his clothes from his dad; he sure wasn't going to take any from THESE people.

"Yeah." Michael gestured to Dean's clothes, then to the group of them. "We thought you'd…well….fit in."

Confused, Dean looked at the lot of them, and it didn't take long to see what Michael meant. Each one of them was wearing vintage clothing, things picked up at thrift shops or flea markets. He put that together with the comment about his personality and the fact that they were asking him to join them, almost as if they were _recruiting _him, for God's sake, and only one word came to mind: hipsters.

He opened his mouth to give the only answer he could give (_Fuck_, no) when he was interrupted by the sound of running and a new figure burst through the group.

"Castiel!"

Dean stared, for there, standing before him, bent over with his hands on his knees as he panted to catch his breath, was none other than the blue-eyed stranger from the tag sale. His hair was just as messy as it had been the day before, jeans once again rolled up, and…..was he wearing TOMS?

"Hey, Castiel. You're late!"

"I know, I realize that. I _hate_ missing English." Dean was surprised by the vehemence in that voice, amazed at how strongly Cas meant what he said; that he DID hate to miss English. He was also struck by the fact that he had already re-named Castiel in his mind, giving him the nickname 'Cas' mere minutes after learning his true name. _How did THAT happen?_

"What did I miss?" Castiel continued, voice still a bit breathless from rushing in.

Lucas nodded towards Dean with a jerk of his chin. "We've got a new student."

Cas looked to Dean and his eyes grew wide with recognition. "_You_…"

Michael looked between the two of them. "You two've met?"

Dean nodded. "Town-wide tag sale yesterday."

"Yup." Cas smiled, but it had a bit of a teasing edge to it. "We both reached for the same record album and our hands met."

Dean flushed. Cas was making it sound like the beginning to some romance story, and he was doing it on purpose.

"Well, isn't _that_ just romantic," Bela was smiling, but Meg looked downright murderous, glaring at Dean. He glared right back. _What the fuck is HER problem?_

"So, Dean. What do you think? You wanna hang out with us?"

Dean's attention snapped to Michael. His previous answer of 'fuck no' was stuck in his throat, wanting to come out, but his eyes flickered to Cas. Cas, who was watching him curiously. And instead, Dean found himself answering "yea, sure."

The bell rang and someone said "oh shit!", sending them all running down the hallway for their next period classes and leaving Dean wondering what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

**~tbc~ **

A/N: The blonde girl is the ORIGINAL Meg and the only one I like. I couldn't STAND Meg when she returned as a brunette. And Lucas is Lucifer. I cannot in any world see someone naming their child Lucifer. The brunette with the curls is Ruby. Just a heads up to avoid any future confusion.^^


	3. Chapter 3

Dean's next class didn't have any of his new…..friends? Were they friends?...in it. Instead, he was greeted with another class of stares and a teacher who reached a _whole _new level of creepy, and after all Dean's years of traveling, _that _was saying something.

Mr. Alastair didn't ask Dean to stand up front and introduce himself, but in the end this was _far _worse than if he had. His gaze flickered over Dean, lingering on his mouth, and finally he gave Dean a soft, slippery smile and told him to sit, gesturing to the chair closest to the front. Dean took the one furthest away.

He heard a stifled giggle and turned. Sitting beside him was a girl with shockingly red hair. Her arms were covered in rainbow arm-warmers, and her shirt said 'Stark Industries' on the front. Her sneakers were scuffed checkered Vans, and she was giving him a big, friendly smile.

"Creepy, isn't he," she whispered, a nod of her head indicating Alastair. Dean didn't look, didn't want to look at the man any more than he had to, and to take the class he was assuming he'd be doing a fair bit of looking. He nodded.

"Very damn creepy." He glanced to make sure Alastair wasn't watching, then looked back at the redhead. "I'm Dean Winchester."

"Charlie," she responded. "Charlie Bradbury."

"Like the author?"

Her face lit up. "You like Ray Bradbury?"

Dean scoffed. "More than 'like'. We're engaged in a torrid love affair."

That prompted a burst of giggles from Charlie, stifled too late with both hands over her mouth, and Alastair and half the class stared at them.

"Anything you two would like to share with the rest of us?"

"No, sir," Dean drawled. Having a friend like Charlie (strange that he already considered her a friend after only a few words exchanged, but he did; talking to her was just so natural) was making him bold. Even Alastair's hard gaze didn't make Dean flinch, and the man finally went back to his lesson.

"So," Charlie began quietly, as soon as she felt it was safe to speak again, "you and good old Ray, huh?"

"Oh yea. Why?" He grinned. "You jealous?"

Charlie shrugged a shoulder. "A little, yes."

"Only a little?"

"Well, you see…." Charlie tapped her pencil against the desk in an almost nervous gesture. "I don't bat for that team."

"Oh." Dean was surprised. "OH."

"Yeah."

There was a moment of silence. Charlie was watching him, waiting to see how he'd take the news that she was a lesbian. Dean tilted his head and grinned. "Hot."

Charlie punched him and he had to bite his lip to hold back laughter of his own. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Well, no," he had to admit, "I'm not. It IS hot. But that's not my first reaction," he assured her. "You know. It's cool."

Charlie smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yea. I mean, I'm…" Dean broke off, blushing. Charlie arched a brow. "It's all good with me. The door swings both ways, if you know what I mean."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Yes, Dean, I know what you mean." She smiled. "And cool."

Dean returned her smile. He never went out of the way to cover up his bisexuality, but he never really made a big deal of putting it out there, either. On the one hand, he was usually never in one place long enough for it to make a difference. He had never yet had a real relationship with anyone of either sex, but the closest he ever came had always been with girls. It just always seemed harder to "come out" (was that still the right terminology when you were bisexual? He didn't know.) and then track down a like-minded boyfriend. Or maybe he was just looking in the wrong places. His mind drifted once again to Cas and he squashed the thoughts down. He didn't even know if Cas was interested in boys.

Dean was stirred from his thoughts as Charlie thrust one of her armbands at him. "Here."

He stared at the fabric, bewildered. "What's this for?"

She shook her head at him, miming exasperation. "You _wear _it, dummy."

"…me? You want _me _to wear your armband."

"Yup. They'll be like…..friendship bracelets. But gay ones. For dorks. Since we're big gay dorks. Well," she amended. "HALF gay, in your case."

Dean stared at her, a smile slowly spreading across his face, and he shook his head. He couldn't believe that somehow, he had found a friend so quickly, so easily. Yeah, he had the hipster crowd, but as far as he could tell, the only thing he had in common with them was a love of vintage things. And Cas. But Charlie? Charlie was _exactly_ the type of friend he would pick for himself. She didn't exactly dress vintage, but Dean didn't give a damn about that. She was eclectic, loved Bradbury, and had sass and sense of humor.

He accepted the arm-warmer, tugging it onto his left arm. "Good?"

Charlie smiled, her right arm still snugly wrapped in its rainbow armband. "Good."

The bell rang suddenly, jolting Dean. He couldn't believe class had gone by so fast, and he hadn't learned a damn thing. He had spent the entire period talking with Charlie. Still, he wouldn't change a single moment. He had made a friend….a real, true friend.

Rising, he scooped up his books. "What period lunch do you have?"

"Second."

Dean's face fell. "Dammit. I've got third."

"Well, I'm actually switching out one of my classes. I got scheduled for regular Chem and I'm supposed to be in AP Chem. So who knows? Maybe the alteration will put me in third period lunch."

Dean smiled. "That'd be cool."

"Where're you heading now?"

"History."

"Me too!"

Dean's entire face lit up. "With Professor Nunn?""

"Yes!"

"Oh man, awesome!" It would be fantastic to have a second class with Charlie. "Hey, you know how to get to the classroom?"

"Oh yeah. C'mon, Winchester. Follow me."

Dean was definitely not pleased to have lunch without Charlie. He figured at least one of the other students he'd met, the hipster kids, would be here, but he didn't know for sure, and he didn't feel like tracking them down. He_ hated _being the new kid at lunch. You either sat by yourself or tried to sit with strangers and hoped they weren't assholes who told you to fuck off.

In this case, Dean actually DID know people, but he didn't know that he liked the idea of being the guy wandering aimlessly around the lunchroom in search of them. He _did_, however, spot Sam. It was a bit surprising that a freshman would have third period lunch, but who was Dean to judge the way things were done at this school?

Sam was sitting with a couple people, and by the way he was talking enthusiastically with them, it was clear they were friends. Dean smiled. Sam had already made friends. That made the whole day better. One of the kids was skinny and had dark hair and big glasses. Then there was a girl with brown hair tumbling in waves down her back. She was exceptionally pretty. And as Dean watched, a second girl approached the table. This one had golden blonde hair, and she was just as gorgeous as the brunette.

"_Damn_, Sammy," he said under his breath, a smile on his face, "aren't doing too bad for yourself, are you."

He decided to pop by and say hello. So long as it was only for a minute, what could it hurt?

"Hey, Sam." See? He even kept himself in check and said 'Sam' instead of 'Sammy'.

Sam looked up at him, surprised. "Dean!"

Dean smiled at his brother. "Was just going to get my lunch and I saw you…..thought I'd say hi." He looked at Sam's three friends. "Hey, guys. I'm Sam's brother, Dean." He heard a few 'hello's and got a few waves, but he wasn't there to encroach on Sam's time, so he just punched Sam's shoulder. "I'll see you later, Sam."

He could hear Sam call out "goodbye" as he turned away, heading off. He wasn't really going to get lunch; he had made a lunch at home but he'd forgotten it. Oh well. It wasn't like the school day was that long. Plus he still hadn't seen anyone he knew besides Sam, so there was no point in sitting around in the cafeteria. May as well head out…..maybe find an art room or the shop room, see if he can fool around a bit….

"Hey, James Dean."

Dean practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of that voice. He'd only heard it twice but it was already as familiar as Sammy's, deep and gravelly and with a smirking lilt to it that was impossibly sexy. But it wasn't just the voice that got him….it was the name. He spun around, coming face to face with Cas, with those gorgeous eyes and smile. Dean stared, heart still pounding. "Why'd you call me that?"

"Your name's Dean, right?" Dean opened his mouth to reply but Cas wasn't done yet. "Besides, you LOOK like a James Dean. You've got the pouty lips and everything."

Dean felt his face burning up and he was sure that he was scarlet red. Cas was grinning like the proverbial cat that caught the canary, and yet there was no way he knew that his words had affected Dean on another level, no way he knew how the name 'James Dean' truly hit home. Still, Dean couldn't help but feel that on some level, Cas DID know, that somehow he already knew Dean better than Dean knew himself.

"I don't…." he began, but Cas interrupted him, which may have been for the best, for he had no idea where he was going with that sentence.

"C'mon, James Dean." He grabbed Dean's arm. "This way." And he began dragging Dean across the cafeteria. Dean saw all of the hipsters sitting at one table. A few of them waved at him as he and Cas approached.

Cas gave Dean a gentle shove towards the table. "I found James Dean."

"Where was he?" Lucas asked, as Bela simultaneously said "James Dean? Oh, that's _perfect_."

"With his brother."

Dean glared at Cas. What made Cas think Dean wanted these people to know anything about his brother, or about his life in general? Then again, Dean HAD said he wanted to hang out with them, which would imply friendship, which usually meant sharing personal information.

"Brother?" Bela actually sounded interested. Points for her. "Where is he?"

Dean felt a bit reluctant to point him out, but he did. "That one there. Hair too long. Name's Sam."

"He's cute." This came from the other brunette, who Dean still hadn't been formally introduced to, but he thought her name was Ruby. He glared at her.

"He's thirteen. Stay away from him."

That elicited a few laughs and Ruby just smirked. "Yeah, buddy, probably shouldn't have point him out," Michael said. "Ruby here is notorious for going after jailbait."

Dean felt his gut clench with protective anger. "I fucking mean it. I will _kill_ you."

He saw the brows shoot up on several people. Ruby still had that obnoxious smile on her face. "Oooh, kitty's got claws."

He was gonna punch her. Fuck, he was gonna punch her. But then he saw the way Cas was glaring at Ruby, as though he wanted to punch her as well, and then he was speaking up, that gravelly voice of his sharp as he said "Ruby, shut up."

Ruby raised her hands in the air as if in surrender and shut up she did. Everyone was silent as they sat and ate. It was as if Castiel had some strange effect on the group, as if once he got mad, everyone knew things were serious and that they should listen up. Dean would wager it took a lot to get Cas angry.

He felt something on his arm and glanced down. Cas was running a finger gently over the material of the rainbow armband. "You didn't have this on this morning," he said softly. Dean was surprised that Cas remembered that, that he had actually noticed what Dean was wearing. "Where'd it come from?"

"Um. I made a friend and she gave it to me."

"A friend?" Cas seemed legitimately interested. It was nice.

"Yea. Charlie Bradbury."

The reaction was immediate…..not from Cas, but from everyone else. There were over-exaggerated shudders, "ugh"s, tongues stuck out. Dean looked around at all of them, stunned. "What's wrong with Charlie?"

"She's a total nerd."

"….." Dean didn't know what to say. One only had to look at Charlie to see that. "…I know," he answered at last.

"No, not a _good _nerd. One of those _freaky_ nerds," the blonde (Meg?) was saying, going on to list reasons Charlie was a weirdo, but Dean had tuned her out, staring at her but hearing nothing. The fact that these people didn't like Charlie….that was like, 100 points in the negative column. That was more than enough to stop him from hanging out with them. But still…..he glanced at Cas. Cas, who was looking at his friends with the same disgust that Dean was feeling, as though he couldn't believe what they were saying. Then he smoothed it over, looking at Dean apologetically. And Dean knew he couldn't stop just yet. Not when this was where Cas was. So he simply toyed with the fabric of his armband, speaking over Meg. "_I_ think she's cool."

"Cool?!" Meg sounded horrified. "Charlie Bradbury is NOT cool."

"Whatever." Dean shrugged a shoulder. "Agree to disagree."

He thought he could hear Meg talking again, and without even looking, he could tell Michael and Lucas were staring at him, that Ruby was eyeing him with confusion and distaste. But he couldn't find it in him to care. Especially when he felt that sapphire blue gaze on him and turned to find Cas watching him with something almost like pride in his eyes. Cas was happy that Dean had stood up for Charlie, even if it meant stomping over Cas' friends to do it. Cas was _happy_. And that gave Dean hope. He didn't like to hope, because that was inevitably when his life came crashing down around him, but maybe for once this fresh start would prove fresh after all, and things would work out for the first time in a long time. Maybe Cas wasn't like the rest of this group. Maybe he was just as lost as Dean felt. And maybe, just maybe, they could find their way together.

**~tbc~**


End file.
